Huh. This is a first. Complaining about a job I don't even have yet. (By the way, this is my way of dealing with the fact that I'm such a pussmore, I can't even cope with the fact that I HAVE to work to make money, so bear with me)
and he's got big balls, and she's got big balls, BUT WE'VE GOT THE BIGGEST BALLS OF THEM ALL!!! ((Yes, I must remember these words from the drunk-n-lovin'-it Bon Scott))
See, here's the deal. Tomorrow I get to put on my suit (black khakis and gray button-down shirt, no tux for this luxury man) and tie (yes, my ONLY tie), and put myself through an actual 9-5 shift. Just like you see on TV, only it's my life and IT SUCKS THE BIGGEST BALLS OF THEM ALL!!!
I always thought of myself, after college, kickin' it around with mindless easy bumfuck work, as few hours as possible for as little scratch as I need, until I could get my writing career off the ground. Too bad, all my ideas are excellent in theory, but only a rare few actually see a proper completion. Such is the life of the artist, though. Poor until you die, and then your loved ones get rich off of your name. I WANT THAT! WHY NOT ME???
No, I gotta be Mr. Man (I know, some of you say I use that term loosely, well BACK OFF!). I gotta be Mr. Suit and Tie and fucking 9 to 5 in Federal Fucking Way because I'm working on a 300 dollar debt and living with a car that won't make it past November, and I'm in a household right now that, if my dad is forced to go on strike, won't be my household long enough to even SEE my car die in November.
See, here's the bottom line: I need to start making money and fucking saving money in a big fucking hurry so I can be more of a help than a burden. For the last year, I haven't asked for a dime in money, only food and shelter. Well, it's time to start pitching in now, which means I have to say something I've lived my whole life trying not to say.
I need this job.
Not, "I want this job." I said that before last summer and it came in handy. No, now I NEED this job and I need it by the end of the month.
So, allow me to put on my Serious Face for just one day; for just 8 hours. Allow me to impress these needle-dicked fucks over at So-&-So Marketing so I can be let onto the payroll and start my way up the company fucking ladder. Towing the company line. Yes Sir, boss! I'm-a heer fer ya, boss! Can I shine yer shoes, boss? Shall I spread some vaseline on my ass crack fer ya boss, or do yer jus' wanna penertrate me dry? You know, boss, I do anything fer yoo, boss!
What's that on my nose? You don't want to know what that brown smudge is. Ass-kissing will only get you so far in this world; as it happens, I'm about to enroll in Honors Ass Kissing 401. Hopefully, I'm up to sniff . . . er, snuff.
Current Mood: Sucked 36 dicks! -- In a row?
Current Music: AC/DC - Big Balls
one day he just might become, supervisor
(Anonymous)
2004-06-23 07:27 am UTC (link)
If they don't throw you out before lunch, the day will be a victory.